


Rhonda's Story

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-10
Updated: 2003-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 09:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/354894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Car porn with a twist. Warning: high level of Stupid; read at your own risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhonda's Story

## Rhonda's Story

by Carlanesses

<http://www.geocities.com/carlanesses/smallville.html>

* * *

There is an imbued spirit in masterfully created things. Most people can trick themselves into thinking they feel it in handcrafted wood furniture or jewel-like glazed pottery, but the same inspiration and love goes into the making of supercomputers and loaves of bread. 

And sportscars, of course. 

Rhonda was the final project of Guido, a journeyman mechanic. He worked on her after hours, long into the night. Often he was visited by various girlfriends, and boyfriends. Guido was a lusty young man. 

So it was that Rhonda came into being, every quality part shakily set in place by hands slick with the love juices of young adults. Her reclining seats were tested before they were even upholstered. Her undercarriage was polished by arching, sweaty backs. Her gas and brake pedals served as footholds for a dozen precarious maneuvers. 

The experiences of Rhonda's gear shift and unpainted hood are not suitable for polite company. 

By the time the factory gave her a cursory hose-down, black leather seats, and a digitally calibrated coat of bright red paint, Rhonda already had more of a spirit than the average Ferrari. 

More accurately, she had a dirtier spirit. 

For a long time she existed quite happily as the plaything of a swaggering rich boy with a bald head and a penchant for scotch. Having no intelligence, she had no thoughts, but the boy was constantly having sex in, on, and around her, so all was right with the world. 

Things took a turn for the worse when the boy - man now, nearly - left the city and took her and the other cars with him. The grey Porsche disappeared, and the man stopped having sex with anyone but himself. There were occasional bouts of unhappy sex with unfriendly women, but the man would always end up saying the word "Clark", which for some reason made all the women leave. 

Having no thoughts, Rhonda didn't know why she was depressed. 

One day Rhonda was lent out to a young man. He hurt her when he revved her engine too hard and yanked on her steering wheel, but she cheered up when he picked up a girl and they had crazy monkey sex. Had she any thoughts, Rhonda would have been reminded of her infancy back in Italy. 

Much more important than these events was the fact that the young man refilled her with "premium" gasoline from a disreputable vendor. It was contaminated with small fragments of greenish rock. They rolled and crunched through her system, spreading radiation in their wake. 

Slowly, slowly, in the depths of the car, intelligence began to stir. 

Rhonda had thoughts. 

Her master's name was Lex. 

Rhonda was unhappy because Lex wasn't having any good sex. 

The reason for the lack of good sex was called "Clark". 

Clark was the name of the boy currently grunting and moaning in cadence with the girl in the back seat. 

Ergo, if Rhonda wanted to be happy in the future, her mission was clear: 

Clark and Lex had to get it on. 

* * *

Sometimes Lex thought the red Ferrari was his favorite car. It was sweetly responsive, almost seeming to anticipate his actions. And the seats cupped his ass with a perfection that was almost eerily comfortable. 

But occasionally when he drove it, strange things happened. Usually during an aimless session of cathartic speeding, he stuck to the highways. Whenever he tried this in the red Ferrari, though, he always wound up on the road to the Kent farm. It was disturbing, to say the least. Had Lex been less of a scientist, he would have said the car wanted him at Clark's. 

However, he refused to be intimidated by a car. He continued to take it out on occasion, and continued to find his way by accident to the Kents'. 

One night he didn't stop himself in time. He only realized his mistake when Clark came running out of the yellow farmhouse, face aglow. 

"Lex!" Clark hollered excitedly. 

Oh dear. 

* * *

"Lex!" Clark called, trying to keep his voice down and conceal his excitement. Lex was sitting in his driveway, looking even more bored than usual. Best of all, he was driving the red Ferrari. That car, and the things he and Jessie had done in it, were one of his few good memories from the time when he was strung out on red Kryptonite. His Saturday night was looking up. 

"Hi, Clark. Ah -- what are you up to?" If it was anyone but Lex, Clark would have said the question sounded uncertain. He shrugged. 

"Nothing much," he said, "Mom and Dad are visiting the Rosses, and Pete's away at a football tournament." And Chloe and Lana both aren't done feeling sorry for themselves, he elected not to add because it sounded whinier than he wanted to appear. "So it's just me and the computer tonight." And could that possibly have sounded more retarded? 

Sometimes Clark wished Lex weren't _quite_ so very hot. It would be a lot easier to have a conversation with the guy if he wasn't constantly preoccupied with fantasies of jumping him. 

"How about you?" 

"Just out for a drive; I . . . kind of ended up here." Lex looked around, and casually offered, "You want to come along?" 

"Sure!" Clark scrambled in, sinking back into the passenger seat with a sigh. The buttery black leather conformed to his shape better than anything else, ever. He'd had occasion to ride in a couple of Lex's other cars, and he was pretty sure this one was even a step above the others. No way was he turning down a chance to sit in it again. Plus, of course, there was the whole sex appeal thing. Between the sleek sportscar and Lex himself, calmly oozing sensuality all over the place as he pulled out of the driveway, Clark's evening had just gotten a lot more interesting. 

The red Ferrari was definitely Clark's favorite of Lex's cars. Even without his own happy past history with it. 

* * *

Rhonda molded her seats around the boys' backs, enjoying their hard young bodies. They were comfortable, and together, and with a little help from her they were soon going to be a nice safe distance from the rest of humanity. 

Next step: setting the mood. 

* * *

Lex drove much the same way he'd been driving before he'd picked up Clark. His distraction was just a little more specific now, two feet away in the flesh rather than being spread out and slowly fucked on an imaginary table. Clark was leaning up so that the gusts streaming over the edge of the windshield struck him directly. With his hair blown away from his face and his eyes closed, he looked too beautiful to be human. 

Understandably, it took a long time to register that the road they were on, while still paved, was cracked and faded and surrounded on all sides by flat green and tan fields. This was cattle-ranching country. Lex would bet good money that nobody drove this way for hours, maybe days, at a time. How the hell had he gotten them here? Wandering in Clark's direction made sense; it was what he wanted to do most of the time. Wandering in the direction of a sea of manure-dotted grass? Not so much sense. 

Oh, well. He was so zoned today it was probably just as well they were somewhere he was less likely to hit anybody. He kept driving, enjoying the cooling of the air as the evening darkened. 

"Um, Lex? You could ask before you turn on the seat's massagers." Clark's voice had a quaver in it Lex had never heard before. 

"This car has massage seats?" It was quite possible. Lex had mostly used the Ferrari for the kinds of dates that required only the most basic of vehicular functions. Like reclining seats. The inventor of the reclining seat was a horny genius. 

"Yeah, it has them; you just turned them on." 

"No I didn't -- yipe!" Lex jumped as a pair of hard knobs started pressing rhythmically into his shoulder blades. "Okay, they must be malfunctioning." 

"Yours, too?" 

"Yeah. Christ, the whole reason people _buy_ good cars is so stuff like this doesn't happen! Hang on, I'll pull over." He crunched onto the gravel shoulder and switched off the ignition. His seat continued its prodding. By Clark's now-slightly-nervous "Lex?", he assumed the passenger seat was also still acting up . . . or down, as the case may be. The inexorable pressure was working along his spine toward his waist. 

"That's it. I'm getting out." He tried to get up, but the belt held him fast. He felt the first flutterings of panic. "It's stuck." 

This was bad. Another few seconds and the evil seat was going to hit his lumbars, and then some very embarrasing things were going to happen. Even his private masseuse kept strictly to the upper back, for the purposes of being able to look each other in the eye between sessions. 

* * *

Clark agonized. His seatbelt was stuck too, but Lex didn't know that for sure. But if he carefully broke the fastening? What then? He couldn't break Lex's without him noticing, and Lex would eventually notice Clark's own, whether he crushed the buckle or shredded the belt. And there wasn't much he could do as the only one free, anyway. 

It was _so_ much easier to just use his powers in an emergency and then stammer out a lame explanation to people in shock. 

He was so caught up in this train of thought he barely noticed Lex trying to turn the car back on. He did hear Lex's curse, though. It definitely wasn't in English. 

"Lex? What's going on?" 

"The thing won't start," Lex groused. He twisted the key again. The engine turned over a few times, wheezed, and died. Lex stiffened and cursed again, but it was a softer and more hopeless sound than the angry invective of a moment ago. 

"Lex, what is it?" 

"It's okay. I'm just -- _fuck_!" Lex grimaced, and continued in a much higher voice, " -- just kind of sensitive in some spots." 

"Jesus, is it hurting you?" Clark clenched his fist around the buckle. 

"N-not exactly." 

Clark squinted. "What's that supposed to mean?" Lex wasn't laughing, so he couldn't be ticklish. If it wasn't hurting, then what -- 

Lex's hands drifted oh-so-surreptitiously to cover his lap. 

\-- Ah. 

The wierd artificial poking didn't bug Clark; if he tightened his back he barely felt it. Watching Lex bite his lip and swallow like that? Whole different ballgame. 

Clark hated this car. He wanted to _be_ this car. "Well, this is a different kind of Saturday night." He knew he sounded bitter; he couldn't help it. It wasn't right that even a stupid car seat got to touch Lex more than he did. 

Lex choked out a laugh. Didn't open his eyes. "Yeah. Trapped in the middle of nowhere and felt up. Only in Smallville would -- ah -- would both be done by the _car_." He jerked and gave himself a squeeze. Clark's own cock ached in sympathy. 

"I'm so sorry about this, Clark." 

"It's not your fault your car's possessed or whatever. And you can't help -- er, that." He plainly wasn't helping. Lex still looked mortified -- or rather, his face was set in the kind of grim calm that Clark knew meant Lex was mortified. 

Oh well, misery loves company. "Truth be told, I'm mostly jealous of the car." There, now they could be mortified together. 

Lex's eyes snapped open. "Jealous of the car." 

"Um, yeah." 

Lex squeezed himself a little slower and more deliberately this time. "So, what would you be doing if we were free of my possessed car?" 

Clark gulped. "Anything you wanted." Lex wasn't freaking. It seemed the dynamo of heterosexuality liked what he was hearing. A hundred doors opened in his mind. "Touch you everywhere, not just your back," he heard himself saying. 

"Jesus, Clark." The whispered words carried perfectly; the only other sounds were the bugs and the wind in the grass. Lex licked his lips and they shone in the light of dusk. Clark leaned over; he had to kiss them. The goddamn seatbelt stopped him, and he was _this_ close to shredding it and hang the consequences. He settled for creeping a hand into Lex's lap. "Can I?" 

"Be -- be my guest." Clark squeezed Lex gently through the pants, and used his other hand to calm his own excitement. He lowered his voice a little. 

"I'd get you to sit over here with me. The steering wheel's in the way where you are." 

Click. 

The seatbelts fell free of the buckles for no apparent reason, at the same time as the passenger seat fell all the way back. Clark followed with a yelp. He groaned when the new position pressed his cock tightly against his jeans. 

Then Lex was leaping on top of him, blue eyes practically blazing and predatory grin showing most of his teeth, and all was right with the world for a very long time. 

* * *

Rhonda purred very quietly to herself in satisfaction. The air was thick with the scent of joyful love juices and the sounds of happy monkey sex. She congratulated herself on a job well done. It had been a near thing with the seatbelts; the taller one, Clark, had a very distracting voice. But she'd managed it. 

They really were a lovely pair. She'd done the world a favor. 

* * *

_Fifteen Years Later_

"I got your message, Luthor. Out with it; I've got a lot of better things to do." Superman growled, floating outside the top floor window of the LexCorp window. 

"Trust me, I'd rather be doing anything else myself," Lex Luthor answered. "But this concerns the both of us. The red Ferrari's been stolen." 

Superman's stern expression softened, and for a second Lex was looking at Clark lost in a good memory. The hazel eyes refocused. "The one you had back in Smallville?" 

"The same." 

He smacked his fist into his open palm with a force Lex now knew could shatter a mountain. "Bring the bastards on." 

Lex fought down a smile. They were enemies, he repeated to himself. The red Ferrari was important enough to call a truce, but he mustn't let himself forget. 

* * *

Rhonda hummed along the freeway, quite independent of the terrified thief trapped in her driver's seat. It had taken countless hours of loitering in horribly filthy back alleys before someone tried to pick her up. 

The boys would be meeting to get her back any minute now. She had faith that enough time in each other's company would make them forget their silly fight. 

They were just too lovely together. It had to be done. 

She was doing the world a favor. 

Besides, she'd been getting depressed all cooped up in the garage. 

* * *

The Unspeakably Stupid End. 


End file.
